


Crane Fly on the Wall

by Cantatrice18



Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Developing Friendships, Drabble Sequence, Gen, Rivalry, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 06:47:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10916505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantatrice18/pseuds/Cantatrice18
Summary: A brief look at Dedicate Rosethorn through the eyes of her rival and colleague, Dedicate Crane.Four drabbles, one for each Circle of Magic book.





	1. Sandry's Book

Anger, so much fiercer than his usual irritation or disdain, hummed beneath the surface of his skin, making the hairs on his arms stand up. He hated thieves, hated having what was rightfully his taken away from him, but it was her who enraged him the most. Rosethorn, with her sharp wit and even sharper tongue, with her disorderly garden running wild about the cottage she called home. It was her boy who was the thief, her boy who’d broken the uneasy truce between them. The Shakkan tree, his tree, bought at considerable expense from a caravan of eastern Traders, now rested ignominiously in the arms of a street urchin, and she had the temerity to suggest that it was he who was at fault for mistreating a plant. Utter lunacy. She was truly mad if she thought he would let her boy get away with robbery, in exchange for a few of her tomato seedlings. He wasn’t sure what would be worse: losing the wretched tomato plants because she cursed them, or being forced to admit that her cultivation methods worked. Either fate was highly unpalatable.


	2. Tris's Book

He watched her work out of the corner of his eye, feigning interest in another conversation all the while. Tucked neatly into a notch in the high curtain wall, with her hands resting serenely on the street rat’s shoulders, she looked like nothing more than a mother with her son on a jaunt to the seaside. It was only when a boom stone struck the ground below that her face twisted, pain making her flinch. Her focus did not waver, not even when the pirates cast loads of liquid fire onto the mess of vines that she vainly fought to grow. Her scream, audible even over the sound of the mages on the wall, send a chill down his spine. Indecision paralyzed him, making him a helpless onlooker as she writhed in agony. Suddenly she stumbled back, throwing out her arms to catch herself. “Lark!” she yelled hoarsely, eyes wide and panicked. It took him a moment to realize what must have gone wrong. Her boy still stood facing the sea, his eyes closed, his brows knit in concentration. Rosethorn knelt at the boy’s side, shaking him lightly, doing anything to break his hold on the magic pattern she herself had created. For the first time in the many years Crane had known her, he could see just how frightened she was. She made no attempt to save face as she struggled to rescue her student from his own folly. Soon Lark was beside her, the two women flanking their young charge as they spoke in short half-sentences only the pair of them seemed to understand. In less than a minute, the boy’s limbs had relaxed, his arms dropping to his sides. Rosethorn stood and grasped the boy’s ear firmly, her body resuming its usual no-nonsense demeanor, but Crane wasn’t fooled. Though she might snap more often than her partner, Rosethorn was capable of as much love as Lark. She just hid it better than most.


	3. Daja's Book

He finished his nightly circle of the greenhouse and paused, frowning. Everything was in order, just as he liked it, down to the last twig and flower. Yet something felt off. He was halfway around the greenhouse a second time when he realized what the trouble was. He was bored. Life at the temple had become too predictable, of late, and the day-to-day routine of a Dedicate no longer excited him. It was all too neat, too symmetrical. An image flashed in his mind, one of a short young woman with chestnut hair and a wry smile. He rolled his eyes. Rosethorn had been gone for barely a month, off to the north with Duke Vedris and her posse of young charges, and her absence had left a gaping hole in the fabric of Winding Circle. Without her to argue with him in council meetings or question his methods, he'd become complacent and ceased to grow. Like it or not, he needed a worthy rival in order to succeed.


	4. Briar's Book

“Gods defend us.”

Red to white. Guilt struck him like a hammer as he stared at the diagnosis mark, so damningly clear, on her forehead. Why hadn’t he seen this coming? He knew her after all, knew her better than anyone else did, except Lark. If he’d bothered to look, he would have noticed how thin and worn she’d become, would have seen signs that she was succumbing to the accursed disease they all fought to cure. The idea of continuing to work without her filled him with dread. During the painful early days, when she’d been quarantined in the Mire like a common healer, all that had kept him going was the knowledge that soon she’d be beside him, lending her hands and her mind to the search for a diagnosis. He quickly erected a mental wall that kept him from imagining where the disease might lead, and what might happen to her if a cure was not found. Dwelling on an uncertain future served no purpose. He could only continue working as he had before her arrival, with scientific precision and accuracy. That, and pray that the Gods would leave her among the living. For all their quarrelling, he couldn’t imagine a world without her.


End file.
